


Mints for the Drunk

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Drunkenness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-18
Updated: 2005-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>20 year-old Remus Lupin is desperately drunk, and Sirius Black has the cure for what ails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mints for the Drunk

Remus Lupin was drunk.

It was a rare occurrence. Remus had heard dozens of theories about a werewolf's metabolism in his lifetime, but his sobriety was rooted in something much more prosaic – he rarely drank to excess. Searing experience had taught him that if none of the Marauders could stand, all manner of tragedy could occur. Being the sensible sort, Remus had subsequently chosen to be responsible for the others, and could therefore be trusted to be sober most nights – to offer Prongs a damp flannel after the latter had puked, to support Peter on unsteady legs as they walked home from the pub, to guide Sirius to the more secluded alleyways in which it was safe to pee.

Tonight, however, Remus was drunk – silly, smashed, grinning and giddy, dancing about James' living room with a paper bag on his head as if it were a hat. "It's this song!" he yelled at Sirius, who was watching him with affectionate bemusement. "It's this!"

It felt wonderful to be so unencumbered, to drink firewhiskey straight from the bottle and flail like a madman to the beat of a truly terrible song. It was damn satisfying to surrender so thoroughly to the power of drink. Drink made everything better. Drink numbed the sensations that sparked beneath his skin whenever Sirius looked at him for a fraction of a second too long. Drink gave him a wonderful case of brewer's droop, ensuring he couldn't betray his attraction to his friend with a random stiffy. Drink made it temporarily OK that he didn't understand Sirius or what this thing was that had been building between them for weeks. Months. _Years_. Drink was just bloody _brilliant_ when you came down to it, and he intended to drink all blessed night.

Fate, however, had other plans. The drawback of rarely being drunk was having little concept of your own limitations, and Remus found himself – just moments after reflecting on the joys of dancing with seventeen people in a space five feet square – struggling to repress the urge to pull a James and vomit into some nice girl's shoes. Horrified, he staggered out of the living room and slammed haphazardly into the kitchen doorway.

James looked up from his attempts to mix the perfect wizard martini (gin, vermouth, and seven carefully selected billywig stings). "You alright, mate?" he asked.

Remus covered his mouth and swallowed, increasingly sure he was destined to throw up. "I . . ." He pressed his lips together and shook his head, gesturing toward the bathroom in a twitching St Vitus' dance of movement that communicated _I'll be going now. My head will be in the toilet if you need me_.

There was a certain something to be said for the blessed relief of throwing up, to treasure in the crystal clear moment when puking was done. Remus sighed, trying to avoid looking at the mess he'd made as he flushed the toilet, scrambled to his feet, and groaned as glimpsed himself in the mirror. "Shit," he mumbled, turning on the tap and scooping up water with his hand.

"You look a bit under the weather," said the mirror. "A nice bit of Stomach Quell'll fix you right up. Behind me – second shelf, next to the toothpaste."

Remus rinsed his mouth and ignored the maternal grumblings of the well-intentioned looking-glass. He'd spent enough time around drunken friends to understand what came next. "More whiskey!" he said to the mirror, and turned on his heel.

It was a surprise to stumble into the hallway and spot Sirius in James' makeshift office – a moniker that constantly made Peter snort, since the room was technically little more than a walk-in cupboard. It was a larger surprise, however, to see Sirius reading the spines of James' books. Remus leaned against the doorjamb, confused.

Sirius looked toward him and smiled the kind of smile that always made the back of Remus' knees spasm with desire. Remus blew his fringe out of his eyes, unsure as to what was more unsettling – being the recipient of the smile, or the fact that his arousal liked to live in such unorthodox places.

Sirius pulled a book from its shelf. "Not often you see a report on illegal wand use next to a treatise on pranking with turnips," he said.

Remus nodded, smiling slightly. "I think he brings most of them home from the Ministry to impress Lily." He shrugged. "The ones he reads?" He stepped into the room, gesturing toward a book with the flick of a finger against a broken spine. "You can tell."

Sirius nodded. "How you feeling?"

"Oh." Remus looked at his shoes. "Caught that did you?"

"I'm surprised you managed not to vomit for so long. I thought Alison MacKenzie's hair was going to be a casualty for sure."

Remus huffed a laugh, still too embarrassed to meet Sirius' eye. "No. Made it safe and sound to the bathroom. Mouth tastes like a Clabberts's arse, though."

"Want a mint?"

"Sure." Remus held out his hand, frowning as he realized Sirius was making no move to pull anything from his pockets. He looked up, puzzled, and saw the mint between Sirius' teeth. "Oh."

Sirius waggled the mint slightly, smiling all the while.

Remus sighed, and glanced back over his shoulder. He ventured a look back at Sirius, who wiggled an eyebrow and waited. Remus ducked his head, glanced over his shoulder one more time . . .

And reached for the man who'd been making his knees tremble for the greater part of his adult life. His long fingers tangled in Sirus' hair as he covered the other man's mouth with his own. It was a confident kiss, lips parted, tongue sweeping into Sirius' mouth to chase the elusive mint. But beyond the mint was Sirius himself and Remus moaned very slightly as the taste of curry spices and cigarettes swept across his tongue. He'd always known the bastard would taste like something exotic, always bloody _known_ it, and he didn't see how he was going to be able to stop coming back for more after this. Sirius whimpered – Remus was drunk, but his vocabulary was intact, and bloody hell that had been a surefire _whimper_ \-- and pressed closer. His damp lips and warm tongue moved with such assurance that Remus couldn't help but feel as if Sirius were staking some kind of claim.

"About bloody time," said James from behind them.

Remus jumped, biting his own lip in his surprise. "What the bloody fuck?" he asked, dabbing at his lip with his fingers.

"You two. Only fancied one another for five bloody years." James was grinning. "Get back to it."

Remus stared, dumbfounded as James disappeared. "Well shit," he muttered, turning back to Sirius. "What do we do now?"

Sirius replied with his lips, but chose action over words.


End file.
